


the space between the pages

by wishingwell44



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Books, Happy Ending, Libraries, M/M, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingwell44/pseuds/wishingwell44
Summary: Bucky Barnes goes to the safest place he knows: the library.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	the space between the pages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [birdjay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdjay/gifts).



> A birthday fic for birdjay! Thank you for being such an amazing friend. Hope you have a fantastic day!

Bucky Barnes, for as long as he could remember, thrived in silence. 

There were the times where he was sitting atop a building looking through a scope, letting the wind howl in his ears. The times when he was sitting on a lab bench, waiting for...for _them_ …to do whatever they needed to do. The times when silence was his best friend.

But then there were times where the silence was horrible and where he only ever wanted to be surrounded by crowds of people so the sounds in his head could go away. 

However, no matter where he was in the world, when he needed to tuck away from the world, Bucky Barnes would go to the library. From his time when he was in middle school, when he didn’t want to go home, he would walk to the Brooklyn Public Library. As his long life moved on and on, he would discover more and more spaces with silence. 

Those spaces happen to have books. Some books had languages that he didn’t quite understand, some with languages that he didn’t know why he understood. When the guards weren’t watching his every move, Bucky would sneak away, like he did from a distant memory, and find the darkest corner in the library.

*

The plane crashed into the water and _his_ shield fell with it. His mind was loud and his ears were singing and he needed to _go_ and get out and -

Bucky dragged his hand over his face, feeling the wet metal on his skin. Everything felt off and different, and nothing like he felt before. Almost like he woke up from a dream. 

A long and horrible dream. 

Bucky kept walking and walking, idly taking as much of his wet uniform off as he could without drawing more attention to himself. When he got into the city, still wearing damp pants and a thin shirt, still feeling the river in his shoes. He slipped into a thrift shop that was empty and found the clothes and things he needed to slip away.

*

It had been weeks since the crash. He had gone to the museum and heard the whispers of the man on the bridge - the man that was practically right in front of him, _on top of him_ , _choking him -_

Bucky dropped a book on the carpeted floor, the sound snapping him back to reality. He looked around hoping that he didn’t draw attention to himself. He whispered a small sorry to no one in particular. The museum was crowded and too much to handle. He needed to go. Needed the silence. He saw the man on the bridge's - Bucky couldn't use his name just yet - face on the walls, his symbol on shirts and hats, and as soon as he saw his own face etched into glass, Bucky had to leave. 

Bucky grabbed the novel from the floor and idly flipped through the words without moving from his spot. His legs got tired and remembered the page. It was getting close to closing hours, and he could hear the librarians shut down their computers, lock their desks.

He didn’t need to say his goodbyes, and slipped out the back door. 

However he was back the next week, in the same library, in the same aisle, reading the same book. Bucky sat down at the old wooden desk that was forgotten about and lost to people’s hopefully happy memories, and kept reading, letting the words take him to different places. 

A few hours later, he closed the book, re-shelved it and left the building. It was a risk coming and going. Security around the whole city was heightened because of what _they_ did. 

What Bucky did. 

However, he was grateful for his training in being invisible, and tugged on his hat a little lower, making sure to always pocket his metal hand. Each time he opened the door, the librarian noticed. She looked from her peripheral vision, trying to _not_ notice him, but checked each time. By the eighth book Bucky read, she had the nerve to walk over. 

His shoulders tensed when he heard the creak of the old floor, and kept his head down when she slipped a piece of paper and pen onto his desk. 

“You know, you can take the book home if you fill out this form,” the librarian said quietly. Bucky didn’t respond. “It’s free.”

Bucky gave a terse nod, and hoped it was enough for the girl to go away. 

Bucky left with the form still blank.

*

It had been weeks since he visited. 

Weeks since he read a book.

Weeks since he felt as though he was stable enough to not scream from the memories that kept coming back. 

The apartment that he was living in was an old safe house. He thought he could return to the comfort that was, in reality, never really comforting. That was never really real. Throughout all the bad memories that returned, there were also good ones. A small man with blond hair, flipping a page that was too close to his face. Coming home to see the same man with another book on his face, snoring loudly on the couch. 

He remembered the names: _The ABC Murders. The Grapes of Wrath. To Have and Have Not._

Then came the memories of guards flipping through those same ones, but ripping the pages out because they saw the Soldier’s eyes flick to the pages, destroying his want. Bucky, now, turned each page with carefulness, not wanting to rip something he held so dear. 

Eventually, Bucky was able to get an identity, fake, but an identity nonetheless. He only killed one person in the process. Cutting his hair, and feeling a little bit more...human, he put on his hat and left for the library once again. He wanted to escape, but wanted to feel the pages between his fingers. 

*

“Hi,” Bucky walked up to the desk. 

The woman behind the computer looked up. “Welcome back,” she said after a few seconds. “Didn’t recognize you.” 

“Got a haircut,” Bucky reached into his coat pocket, “and found my ID.”

“Great!” she didn’t move. “We got some new fantasy donations if you want to check them out,” she smiled. 

“Maybe I could take them home?”

“You have an ID! That’s right, one second,” She opened up a few drawers and fished out a form. “Library card form, you can hand it back before you leave and I’ll issue it for you.”

“How long do I have with the books?”

“Two weeks.”

“Okay,” Bucky pushed a smile, “thanks.”

*

Bucky got lost in the world of Camorr, with thieves and pirates, flipping the page until he reached almost the end of the book, before he saw the librarian again. 

“Here you go,” she handed the small card with the picture of the library on the front. “Wanted to wait until the end of the day.” 

“Can I check out the next book?” Bucky asked, his voice tired. 

“Absolutely.”

Bucky continued his read in his makeshift bed, giving space for no one in particular. His mind drifted to the times before, when he could feel the weight of someone next to him. 

Someone small.

Someone blond. 

He finished that particular book three days later, longer than he wanted to, but found reading at his safe house caused his mind to wander a bit more, and between the good and bad memories he tended to sleep rather than read. 

“How was the story?” the librarian asked as she scanned the book.

Bucky liked this woman because she didn’t ask about the bags under his eyes, or the stubble that was close to becoming a beard. She knew he didn’t want to answer those questions. “It was okay,” Bucky tried to have the opinion come off easily, but it was still difficult. Still difficult to not expect anything less than a blow to the face for expressing his thoughts. “Not as good as the first two.”

“Agreed,” she smiled and set the book to the side. “Look, I know the next one doesn’t come out for another six months or so, but I’ll make sure to put a request to purchase it.” 

“I don’t know if I’ll be here…” his voice trailed off.

“Well, it’ll be here if you want it,” she smiled, and Bucky left for the stacks. “By the way,” she said, a little louder to try and get his attention. “Not sure if you know anyone around here but a man was asking about a Bucky. He had blond hair. Large build. I don’t know too many Bucky’s, so I’m assuming it’s you?”

“Uh,” his hands tensed. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she seemed disappointed. “He was a bit nervous. I felt like I knew him too. He looked _way_ too familiar. Y’know when you see a celebrity in the wild and you’re like ‘is that so-and-so? That can’t be so-and-so’.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bucky furrowed together his eyebrows. “Did this person give you a name?”

“Grant.”

Bucky sighed and dipped his head. “I don’t know him.” However he did. Why _he_ always chose that name for a secret name, Bucky would never understand. “Is he here today?”

“No.”

“Good.”

*

It had been another few weeks since Bucky was back in the stacks. Bigger and bigger books were added to his list, and got through them with ease. When he arrived, though, Bucky felt something different. Like the air had shifted. 

Because it had. 

When Bucky stepped down into the room he felt was his sanctuary, he could see the man...the man that was on the bridge, looking through the shelves. Blue jacket, black cap, glasses - _He never wore glasses -_ but it was his frame that he knew. He knew it because it was all he thought about. 

The frame of a man who wanted -

“Bucky?” it was his voice that asked.

Bucky kept walking to the back of the library, knowing that he would follow. “Go away.”

“Have you been here this whole time?” he asked. Steve. His name was Steve. 

“I have a safe house,” Bucky turned around to face Steve. Tall. He was tall. “You’re tall.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve took off his hat. “I wasn’t always this tall though.”

“You used to be shorter than me.”

“That’s right. I’m...I'm back in DC. Went all over Europe looking for you.”

“Good for you. Do you want a medal?” Bucky almost spat out the words, and saw the hurt on Steve’s face. He didn’t mean to use the tone. But yet, he already made the choice. 

“How ‘bout we continue this conversation another day?” Steve’s voice was soft.

“Don’t tell me what to do, _Grant_ ,” Bucky became angry. This is not... _This is not_. “This is not the happy go lucky reunion you wanted? Me falling into your arms, doting around like your damsel that you couldn’t save? This is my safe place, my hideaway and -”

Steve just backed away. Bucky didn’t realize his own approaching footsteps. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean-”

“Just go,” Bucky said. “Just go,” he continued as he pushed passed Steve, 

*

Bucky didn’t go back to the library for a while. Three months is a long time when you’re not in cryostasis. He stared at his library card, not being used and collecting dust. He didn’t read books. Bucky didn’t want to leave any type of trail, and didn’t want that to be associated with his happiness, or at least the last strand of it. 

He didn’t want Hydra taking the one thing away that he loved. 

However, he needed to escape his mind, and the only way he knew how was to skip town. Bucky tried to leave for good. He tried to pack up his whole safe house, but ultimately left with a small duffel bag of clothes. It was probably a mistake, to think that he could just come back. He reminded himself it was just skipping town, not taking a long vacation.

He took the train South. To the beach.

He needed to leave the crowded area. The train station was packed with tourists, and was able to hide from the people he didn’t want to see. His burner phone was running low so he sat at the nearest plug, and closed his eyes, only for a minute. There was a rustling that woke Bucky with a start.

“Did I wake you, young man? I’m so sorry,” an older woman with a slight accent sincerely said. “My old hands can’t quite grasp a book this big. Sorry for the startle.”

“No, I was just resting my eyes. You didn’t startle me at all.”

“My late husband used to say that,” she chuckled at a memory. “I was just trying to exchange this book for the little free library. I love these things.”

Bucky turned his body slightly more to see what the older woman was talking about. “Those are free?” he asked as he pointed to the shelf of books. 

“Yes, isn’t that great?” she smiled. “Ah, here’s the one,” she clutched the book to her chest. “Have a good day, young man.”

 _I’m older than you,_ Bucky thought. He scrolled over the novels that were selected. _The Song of Achilles, The Raven Boys, The Way of Kings_ , and more were just sitting there, waiting to be devoured. He grabbed one and made his way to the exit of the station. 

The beach was crowded but quiet, and warm. He removed his jacket, and used it as a blanket, and let his head fall back, facing the sun. Soaking up the warmth that he never thought he would see again. 

“Let’s see where this book will take me,” he said to no one, and cracked the spine. 

The sun set, and a tear fell on the page. He didn’t want to part with the story. 

He didn’t want to part with the book. 

Bucky didn’t want to admit that he didn’t want to part with his life beforehand. He waited some more, for the sun to set, and more people to leave, before he got up and shook his jacket free of sand. 

He went back to the train station, and held the book, and placed it back on the shelf, and hoped that another person would love it as much as he did. Bucky made a mental note to ask the librarian if she had a copy in one of the sections. 

Bucky stood by the shelf and watched the pages curl, like the book was alive again. He spun on his heel back towards the train.

*

A month later, Bucky felt comfortable to go back into his sanctuary. He dug his hands deep into his pockets, using the back door, so he didn’t have to interact with anyone. 

He went to the downstairs area where they still had the desks and -

He saw his blond hair. Not anyone else's. _His_. His hair was straw colored yellow, that when washed had the softness of a bunny. The hair that if not tossed just right could look like it could cover his eyes. A memory of Bucky surfaced of them both reading. Bucky on the couch, Steve sitting on the floor, with Bucky lightly tossing his hair. Bucky shook his head, putting himself back into the present. 

He needed a book.

He wanted a very specific book. 

Feeling defeated, Bucky went back upstairs, and asked another librarian to see if they had the book he held in his hands. The book that he left in the train station for others to enjoy. 

It was his first rental in what was ages.

*

Bucky escaped into the book four times over the course of two weeks. He would read it, and put it down and just think about the two men. How they changed, how they evolved with each other, and every time he thought about the characters, Bucky’s mind couldn’t stop thinking about him and Steve.

How Steve wanted to see him, and check on him, and Bucky just pushed him away. How, they were so close, pushed far apart, but in the end, kept coming together like fate’s intertwining string.

*

Bucky returned the book in person. 

“Well, well, well, the prodigal son returns,” the librarian smiled. “How’d you like the book?”

“It’s the best one I’ve ever read,” Bucky shrugged. “I’ve read it maybe six times.”

“You loved _The Song of Achilles_?” she raised her eyebrows.

Bucky leaned on the counter. “What’s that gotta mean?” lightness fluttered in his voice.

“I just wouldn’t expect you to love this type of story, that’s all,” she smiled. “I’m glad you loved this story. But more than _The Lies of Locke Lamora?_ ” 

“Well, now you’re crossing genres, that’s not fair.”

The librarian winked. “The new one just released, we got a copy a few days ago,” she typed some letters into the computer, “and it looks like no one has taken it out yet. Better go grab it before someone else does.”

“Thank you, I’ll be back up before the library closes,” Bucky said before making his way down the stairs. 

He was back in his stacks of books. Each book called out to be read, but yet there was silence. He went up and down a few rows before someone was standing in front of the books. 

Someone tall, someone blond, and someone that wasn't just some person at all.

It was Steve. 

“You’re standing in front of the book I want to read,” Bucky said quietly. 

“Oh, I’m -” Steve turned around. “I’m sorry,” Steve turned around and faced Bucky. “Oh,” the word was soft on Steve’s lips. Bucky grabbed the book off the shelf. 

“Thanks.”

“Hi,” Steve took a step back. “It’s been a while.” 

“It has,” Bucky lowered his voice. 

“Look if you don’t want to talk that’s fine but -” Steve stopped when Bucky held up a hand. 

“I do, but I also want to read some of this book, and not have a private conversation when there’s other people around here,” Bucky looked around, some people turning their heads. “Grab a book, and,” Bucky sighed. “Sit with me for a bit.”

“Okay,” Steve scratched the back of his head, “but I don’t know if you remember, but I was more of a movie guy. You were the reader.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Grab a James Patterson novel for all I care, I’m not leaving until I get at least half way through this.”

“Fine,” Steve grabbed the closest book, “I’ll read this one.”

“No.” 

“What?”

“Don’t choose a book, let a book choose you,” Bucky stated. 

“Uh, okay,” Steve turned around. 

“I’ll be at the corner desk.”

*

“You’re still here,” Steve said, as he sat down with a different book. 

“20 pages in, 280 to go.” 

*

Bucky bookmarked his page and stretched, as Steve looked over, almost nervous. “I’m not gonna run off. Just wait for me on the bench.”

Steve nodded and walked off. Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, and went to go check out his book. 

Steve was still sitting on the bench when Bucky walked outside. The sun was almost set, and the stars started to peek through the night’s curtain. He sat down next to Steve, and Steve moved over, and gave him some room. Bucky wanted to move closer, but restrained himself.

“How long have you been....here?” Steve asked. 

“Not sure. Time got fuzzy. Being in and out of cryo destroyed my concept of time during the first few months.”

“Are you...” Steve sighed, collecting his thoughts. “Are you real? I just want to make sure I’m not hallucinating.”

‘Yes and no,” Bucky smiled. “I’m not gonna be _him_. The Bucky you completely remember. The guy who smiled at every stupid thing you did, or the guy who tried to make you read more Agatha Cristie.”

“I remember that day,” Steve smiled. “I was on my feet so much from painting, that you literally took my palette from my hands and shoved a book in my palm. You remember that?”

“Old memories flash. The good ones at least.”

Steve pursed his lips. 

“But,” Bucky sighed. “I’m getting there. I won’t be perfect.”

“I never asked for perfection,” Steve said. “I only asked if it was you.”

Bucky felt that pain in his chest, but it wasn’t hurtful. “It’s...It’s as close to me as I can get right now,” he smiled, and gripped his book tight. 

“I missed you a lot, Buck.” 

“I’m glad to be here, Steve,” Bucky smiled, _truly_ smiled, for the first time in a long time.

As Steve clasped his hand over Bucky’s free hand, Bucky remembered the stories. How some ended in pain, how some ended with fear.

Books ended, though, but this, _this_ , felt different. It didn’t feel like an end. Not at all.

It felt like a beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written/posted fic in a while. Between writers block and working during...all of this it's been difficult to produce anything that I felt was worthy, and anything that has been written was either abandoned or well. Not complete. I hope this fic was to your liking, and as always constructive criticism is always appreciated. 
> 
> Happy birthday again to birdjay!! 
> 
> (...and support your local library, if you can!)


End file.
